Of Cars and Conmen
by The Third Marauder
Summary: In hindsight, Peter thinks, everything would have been so much simpler if he had just let Caffrey keep the damned car. Pre-series.


**Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters belong to the USA Network. **

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* * *

It was, Jones decided, the most terrifying expression he had ever seen.

Peter was motionless, his body so still that he might have been a marble statue, his eyes blankly set on the stretch of empty road. Beneath that unnatural stillness, however, was a whirlwind of celestial wrath, so dangerous and murderous, that Jones almost wanted to walk away from this one.

"Peter," Jones said instead, stepping forward. "Maybe we should go back to the office?"

Immediately, Peter had fixed him with a glare, and Jones was raising his hands, defending, "I'm not saying we don't pursue this. I'm just saying it might be easier to coordinate the search from the office. Start up, again, there."

"Oh, we're going to start up again," Peter vowed, his eyes almost manic, and wearing a grim smile that would have frightened anyone except for the subject of their conversation. "Caffrey has gone too far. I'm done playing nice. He's going to learn what the full force of the FBI feels like."

With that, Peter moved away, deliberately stepping on the origami flower that had been left in place of his car.

* * *

It had started off as a good morning.

Later, Peter would wonder how he could have assumed that would last. The preponderance of evidence would have certainly suggested it couldn't. After all, it had been almost a year, and he had yet to encounter a day involving the Caffrey case that didn't end in frustration and disappointment.

Still…

A reliable source had confirmed the what, the when and the where. And even if he hadn't been able to give the how, surely knowing where Caffrey would be _when_ was enough to make up for it. Caffrey's luck had to run out sometime, and today seemed just as good a day as any.

So when he finally actually sees Caffrey in one of the museum galleries, he is feeling on top of the world. "Suspect spotted in the North Hall. Will engage."

He ignores Jones' entreat to wait for backup, and approaches the conman. Caffrey hasn't moved from his place examining a painting, a different one than his target, Peter notes, and the agent is sure he hasn't been spotted. Except, with his back still facing the agent, Caffrey greets softly, "Agent Burke."

"There's no where to run, Caffrey. Come with me quietly, and I'll be sure to tell prosecutors how cooperative you were."

The forger turns to face him. It's the first time since in front of the bank that they've actually met face to face, and Peter is struck by how _young_ Caffrey is. Which quickly turns to outrage that he is being outfoxed by a _kid_. A kid who is seems more entertained by Peter's words than frightened. "Trying to take me home with you? Agent Burke, I'm a little insulted. You should at least offer me dinner, first."

Peter blinks, taken a little aback by the nonchalance.

Caffrey focuses back on the painting. "It's beautiful isn't it? I've always admired Monet's ability to blend the colors. See that," he gestures to the painted snow, his tone a little envious, "the perfect juxtaposition of whites and blues. Beautiful," he repeats wistfully.

Peter is feeling strangely out of his depth. He takes a deep breath and tries again, taking out his pair of handcuffs, "I don't want to create a scene—"

Caffrey interrupts in feigned surprise. At least, Peter assumes it's feigned; the kid's ability to convey sincerity in whichever emotion he affects is astounding. "Handcuffs? How utterly kinky of you."

Peter has had enough. "This isn't a game, Caffrey. We know why you're here, and you're not going to get what you want."

"Want? I don't _want_ anything!" There is a cheeky grin playing at his mouth. "Well, except to officially meet you, but you've taken care of that, haven't you, Peter?" He pauses anxiously. "It _is_ alright if I call you Peter, isn't it?"

"No," Peter says shortly.

Caffrey doesn't miss a beat. "My apologies, then, _Agent Burke_." He glances at his watch. "As much as I have enjoyed this conversation, I'm afraid I have to go. My girlfriend and I have evening plans. I'm sure you understand."

Peter steps forward to place a restraining hand on the forger. That is when everything goes wrong. The fire alarm blares through the museum, and, in the split second Peter looks away to identify the source, Caffrey has slipped out to the garden courtyard. By the time, Peter gets there too, the conman is out of sight. Then, everyone else is rushing out the door, and it takes Peter five minutes to convince the museum employee manning the door that he is FBI and should be inside the building.

At that point, it is too late, and where _The Scream_, Caffrey's original target, should be, there is an empty frame and an origami flower folded from a photo of Wiley Coyote.

"Jones," Peter grounds into his comm, "he's gotten away, I need a—"

"I called for a five block perimeter the moment the alarm went off," Jones reports. "It's set. He's not escaping this time, boss."

It was nice, Peter reflected, to have competent employees, sometimes.

"I'll meet you at the van. We can coordinate from there."

They wait two hours to no results. And then Peter's phone rings.

"Burke," he answers quickly.

"Sir." It was one of the probies. "There's been movement in Caffrey's account. An hour ago, he visited the midtown branch in person. Security footage confirms that it was him, sir."

"Right," Peter says, an immense amount of effort going into _not_ smashing something. "Thanks, Hill." He snaps the cell shut, and turns to Jones who is watching him warily. "Call off the perimeter. Caffrey's out."

"We're leaving the case?" Jones is in disbelief.

"Of course not," Peter dismisses immediately. "We can still find him through the painting. A piece that high profile? He's not going to be able to move it. But it's too high profile to keep, so he's going to have to. Come on. We need to get back to the office and regroup. Have someone else pick up the van, we'll use my car."

Peter's certainly not _happy_, but the day is still salvageable.

Of course, then they find that Peter's car is not longer where they parked it. And after a few calls, they discover that the agent at the perimeter border had been all too happy to let the _charming_ man driving Agent's Burke's car on an important errand go through without hassle. After all, if Agent Burke trusted him with his _car_, then surely his business must be _absolutely_ vital.

Peter's mood for the rest of the day would have frightened the entire office had they not known at whom the fury was directed.

* * *

The next morning, they find the painting.

(They actually find ten copies spread across six continents, all of them impeccably accurate, and all of them, after much analysis, proven to be forgeries.)

A small part of Peter is tempted to rip his hair out and scream.

What he actually does is smile, comment on the impressiveness of the con—because, to be fair, it _is_—and continue trying to backtrack the paintings through the fences.

They get nowhere.

(Frankly, he is not surprised.)

* * *

It is three days after the failed Frick Operation when Peter gets his first phone call from Neal Caffrey.

He's in his office later than usual. It has been dead end after dead end on the Caffrey case, and Peter is looking for something, _anything_, that might give him another investigative path.

When the phone rings, he glances at the time and curses. Elizabeth expected him home five minutes ago. He answers without even checking the caller ID.

"I am _so_ sorry, hon. I got caught up in a case and lost track of time—"

"Hon, already?" And even though they've only spoken twice, Peter can immediately identify the voice by its self-satisfied entertainment. "Agent Burke, you _do_ move quickly. Do I get a nickname for you?"

Peter blushes. "I thought you were my wife."

"Yes." Peter can hear the indulgent smile. "I can see why you might get us mixed up. The amount of time you're spending studying me… no doubt I'll soon be called the other Mrs. Burke."

Embarrassed, he lashes back, "No offense, but I can do much better."

There is a pause. When Caffrey speaks he has adopted a tone of undeserved hurt. "I was hoping we could be civil. Aren't angry insults a little immature?"

"You're right," Peter sighs. "My apologies, Caffrey."

"If we're talking about marriage, surely you can call me Neal," the conman offers. He is obviously feeling magnanimous.

Peter grins in spite of himself. He always liked the smart ones. "I'm afraid I don't generally fraternize with my suspects."

"Suspect?" Caffrey infuses his voice with a mixture confusion, innocence, and indignation. "Am I being charged of committing some sort of crime?" The last words are whispered, as if he is appalled by just the thought of doing something illegal, and Peter almost wants to applaud the acting skill.

"I'm sure I could fill pages with things you are suspected of."

"I didn't think the FBI was one for baseless accusation. Unless you have concrete evidence for my alleged misdoings?" He lets the question hang, because they both know he doesn't. "Agent Burke, my life is an open book."

He sounds so utterly sure of himself that Peter wants to laugh.

"If that's the case, then why don't you stop by the office? We can clear up these _apparent_ misconceptions, and you can go back to living your virtuous life. Are you free tomorrow?"

He can almost visualize Caffrey contemplating Peter's proposal, can see the conman's expression of reluctant admiration for Peter's roundabout methodology.

"I'm afraid that will be impossible." Caffrey sounds sincerely apologetic, as if truly disliked denying the agent anything. "I'm not in a position to be back in New York by tomorrow, unfortunately."

"You're not in the city, anymore?"

Caffrey confirmed in the positive. "It's why I'm calling, actually. I never got to properly take my leave of you at the museum, and I'm a bit of a stickler for good manners."

"You left in a hurry," Peter observed lightly. "I hope the drive wasn't too troublesome."

A pause followed by slow words. "Peter, you know I don't have a car."

The white collar agent ignores him. "Of course, my car is not the typical getaway vehicle, but I suppose one uses the resources one has." A beat. "I would like it back, though, if you're done using it."

"I don't understand. Did something happen to your car? Did you lose it?" Peter, who is getting more adept at reading beneath Caffrey's guileless tone, can hear the superiority and delight.

"When you take something that doesn't belong to you, it's called stealing, Caffrey," Peter explains patiently. "I mean, I sympathize with the impulse. Cars are incredibly useful. But if you want one so badly, you should buy your own, not steal mine."

He hears the forger release a heavy sigh. "Again with the unsubstantiated charges. And, hypothetically, even if it were true… would you really be so selfish to deny a poor friend the use of your car?"

"Yes. If you want a car, buy your own."

"Come on, Peter. I can't afford a car."

"Agent Burke," Peter corrects, and says dryly, "I'm sure you'll be able to find a way to fix that. Now, I want my car ba—"

He stops, because there is a woman's voice in the background, followed by rustling, and then silence, as Caffrey must have covered the speaker. He comes back on to regretfully announce that he needs to go.

"Is there someone with you?" They had always assumed Caffrey worked independently. But if he had a partner, it could change the entire investigation.

"It seems that we're both keeping each other away from our significant other," Caffrey says cheerfully. "I'll talk to you later. Send my regards to Mrs. Burke, and good luck finding your car!"

With that, the phone clicks shut.

Instead of rehashing every word looking for a clue, Peter decides to follow Caffrey's example. Less than an hour later, he is home with his wife.

* * *

He gets the car back two days later.

It's been fully serviced, washed, and, to Peter's not unexpected dismay, completely wiped of fingerprints. The boy who delivers it, hands him a bouquet of flowers and an envelope.

He rips it open to reveal a wad of cash and a note. And stares.

It is written in his handwriting. The letters are formed in the exact manner he draws his own, and if Peter hadn't _known_ they weren't his, _he _would have been convinced.

As is typical of Caffrey, the words are polite and seemingly inoffensive, for all the undertones of smug delight. He tenders his utmost gratitude for the loan of his car and hopes that the money is sufficient to cover any transportation inconvenience caused by the event. Absently, Peter notes that the money is the exact amount for the five days' worth of cab rides between the office and his townhouse.

While he rereads the note, trying to spot inadvertent clues, he distractedly asks the driver if the man who had hired him had left any verbal message.

"Weren't no man," the teenager drawls, popping a bubble.

Peter's head jerks up. "Excuse me?"

"Weren't no man who dropped off the car," the kid repeats. "Was a lady. The most beautiful lady I ever saw."

The enigmatic girlfriend, Peter concludes. Within half an hour they have a photo stripped off of the driving service's security footage, and, by the end of the day, a name.

_Kate Moreau_.

His gut is telling him that this will be important.

* * *

The next time they meet, it is an honest-to-god accident.

Peter is working a case involving money laundering. They've caught the person doing the actual laundering, but he has proved extremely tightlipped about his employers, so Peter has been forced to try and catch them one-by-one.

It is the third night following Marcus Fitzgerald, and he is sipping drinks at an extremely upscale bar on the Upper East Side. They've managed to plant a bug in his jacket, and Peter is in a dark corner watching the anxious investor fidget. One of the bar employees approaches him, and, after a few words, they head to one of the private backrooms.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," greets a smooth, low voice. Peter pauses. There is something extremely familiar about the speaker. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Nick!" Fitzgerald exclaims cheerfully. "I haven't seen you since that unfortunate business with Vince. Have you stayed in touch with him?"

"You know that would be quite impossible." The words are firm, but the speaker is soft spoken and ingratiating, as if he is used to backing down to richer, more powerful men.

"Nonsense. Vince always described you as his most able employee. He was very fond of you. I can't imagine he would have cut _you_ out of his profit."

"You are too kind," 'Nick' murmurs humbly. "May I take your coat?"

"Please."

There is rustling, and, when the two speak again, the voices are distorted and distant and Peter can only catch traces of conversation.

"—can I do for—?"

"—problem with—Rodrigo in jail—friend told me you could—"

Rodrigo was the money launderer they had recently caught. Looks like Fitzgerald was looking for a way to continue the business.

"—friend was wrong—got out of game—not doing that—"

"—you have contacts—Vince would have—and my friends say—"

"—need incentive—"

"—promise adequate compensation—"

"—might know—Canary Islands—"

"—set it up—"

"—be in touch—finalize details—"

"Thank you, Nick," Fitzgerald's voice was back on full, and he must have put his jacket on.

"I'm just happy to help, sir." There is something itching at the back of Peter's mind. He knows he should recognize the person.

"None of that sir business," Fitzgerald reproaches. "You were always too polite, Halden."

There must have been some acknowledgement, because Fitzgerald takes his leave and reappears in the bar, his step much lighter. He departs immediately, and Peter, momentarily torn, finally calls Jones and orders him to tail the investor.

He wants to meet the mysterious Nick Halden. Peter has never heard the name before, which only lends Halden credibility for his chosen profession.

He has been waiting half an hour when it happens.

"Agent Burke," an amused voice states from behind him. Peter almost jumps, and spins around so fast that his knee bumps painfully into a table. Caffrey's blue eyes are dancing. "We really must stop meeting like this."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Peter says, trying to regain his dignity after the clumsy moment.

Caffrey looks as if he is considering the question. "Is it so hard to believe I might have wanted a drink?"

"Yes."

Caffrey grins. "All right. I was meeting someone." The blue eyes focus past him, and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Peter turns to see a brunette exit the bar. He doesn't see her face, but, based on the color of the hair, he knows it is not Kate. "Looks like I was stood up, though."

"Not the lovely Kate, I see. I hope the two of you aren't fighting."

Peter feels a twinge of satisfaction as he watches Caffrey freeze. His mask of ever-present merriment returns almost immediately, but there was a second of surprise and fear and Peter knows he's rattled the conman.

"You know about Kate?" He breathes, almost involuntarily.

"I know a lot of things," Peter says lightly. "I know about the forged British Pounds. I _know_ that Ms. Moreau is not an innocent victim in your confidence schemes. I know that your job with the Falconer's Manuscript involved a _partner_. Perhaps I should question her."

The slip of the mask is more lasting this time. There is a wildness to Caffrey's eyes and a tightness to the smile that he puts into place. "That's a low move, Agent Burke," he says softly.

Peter shrugs. "I'll do what I have to."

Caffrey's blue eyes search his face, as if looking for the bluff. His breathing is short, and, when he finally speaks, it is with a hint of threat. "There are rules to this game. You don't involve loved ones in these kinds of dealings. Not unless you want things to escalate quickly."

Caffrey has never been considered a dangerous criminal. It is public knowledge that he does not like guns, and he has never used violence to accomplish a job. But there is a seriousness here, a promise of peril that Peter does not want to test.

So he lightens the conversation. "You broke that rule first." Caffrey's brow furrows, so Peter elucidates, "You stole my car."

"I've never been good with rules," Caffrey admits, after releasing held breath. Then he breaks into a smile. "Is your car so important to you?"

"Right up there with my wife and my dog," Peter states gravely.

"I am sure if your thief had been aware of that he would have chosen a different vehicle."

"Perhaps," Peter says, lips twitching. "Or perhaps he would try and steal it as often as possible." Caffrey doesn't deny it. His eyes are sparkling, and Peter feels a little worried. "I didn't bring it today, if you were wondering that."

Caffrey almost sighs. "I don't like your assumption that I'm your thief." He brightens up. "You know, if you gave me my _own_—"

"No." Peter denies immediately.

Caffrey is petulant. "If I had my own, I wouldn't _have_ a need to steal yours. Hypothetically."

"I'm not getting you a car, Caffrey. If you want one so badly, figure out a way to buy your own."

Caffrey crosses his arms. "Boring," he announces decisively. "Anyway, I must get going. Another meeting to get to."

They both say their goodbyes. Peter supposes he ought to try and arrest the forger, but it seems like an unnecessary effort knowing that Caffrey will outrun him. So he tails him out the bar instead. He watches a car pull up to his most wanted suspect, watches his highest priority case slip into a car with a "Thanks, Alex," and does nothing as the car slips away.

Instead, he hails a cab back to the office. He has a lot of research to do on Caffrey's plans as Nick Halden.

* * *

Caffrey disappears for almost a month after that, finally resurfacing after a daring break in at the Amalienberg Palace in Copenhagen, which is used to backtrack his travels and identify several smaller jobs in France.

It is when he returns to New York that everything seems to change. Suddenly, Caffrey is pulling big cons, and, for a man who had previously tended to stay below the radar, his jobs were becoming extremely public.

It starts off with the Vinland Map, quickly followed by the replacement of a Fiorentino with foil covered chocolate at the National Gallery. Then the Antioch manuscripts. Then Raphael's 'St. George and the Dragon'. He is working at an incredible rate, pulling jobs once every couple weeks, and those were the one's the Bureau _knew_ about. And even given the shear volume of information for them to follow, it's still difficult for the Bureau to keep up with the grifter.

Yet, despite this, Peter is _still_ surprised when Caffrey's latest con is reported to him. He takes one look at the file Jones has passed to him, and then looks at Jones, horrified.

Oh, no.

_He didn't._

* * *

He stays in his office late that night, waiting for the phone call.

Peter supposes he could have just as easily gone home to wait. After all, he is fairly sure that the conman has his cell number. Probably also his home number, if it came down to it, and Peter should probably think about not being so indulgent about his suspects having such free access to his home.

The agent doesn't even pause to consider what would happen if Caffrey _doesn't_ call. It doesn't occur to him that the forger might not.

He is waiting for a call. Therefore, a call must be forthcoming.

He is, fortunately, not disappointed.

It is almost midnight when the phone rings, and Peter, who has been pacing his office, leaps across his desk to answer it.

"Agent Burke!" The address is warm and fond.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Peter demands, immediately.

Caffrey's confusion might even be real. Because, for all the allegations Peter levels at him, he almost never asks Caffrey to explain himself.

"Peter," the conman says slowly, "I don't know what you're talking about. You're going to have to be more specific."

"You bought a _car_."

"Is that illegal now?"

"You _bought_ a car!"

"If we're being accurate," Peter could hear the smile, "I actually bought a couple."

He is being less cooperative than usual. Which is actually saying something. Peter takes a deep breath. "_Why_ did you buy a car?"

"Well, _you_ certainly weren't going to buy me one," Caffrey pointed out. "So I thought _I _would."

"Yes," Peter said through gritted teeth. "And _how_ exactly did you get the money?"

Caffrey pauses. "I took initiative. There's nothing wrong with trying to support myself. Isn't that what you told me to do?"

"I meant you should get a job. _Not sell the Statue of Liberty_!"

"So I get a lot of money and don't have to waste my weekdays. Hypothetically speaking." Peter senses Caffrey frowning. Then, he is chastising, "And I thought we'd talked about the unfounded allegations, Peter."

"Agent Burke," Peter rectifies automatically.

"It's a bit brazen, isn't it? Selling a national treasure. I thought conmen were supposed to sell the Brooklyn Bridge."

Peter reminds himself that shouting at Caffrey will solve nothing.

Meanwhile, Caffrey is continuing thoughtfully, "Though, selling Lady Liberty undoubtedly would be more profitable. What's the going rate for national monuments?"

"Are you done?" Peter asks, his voice forcibly calm.

"I can be." Caffrey says happily. "If you ask nicely."

"Unlikely."

"Manners are important, Agent Burke."

"Is that so? Fine." Peter leans back in his chair. He clears his throat and says as sarcastically as he can. "I do hope all is well with you, Caffrey. It's been so long since we've gotten to talk. How are things with the incomparable Kate?"

There is a significant intake of breath. "Kate's gone." Caffrey says at last. His voice is kept level, but there is unspoken grief rampant in the tone.

"I'm sorry." Peter says, and he is. As much as Caffrey annoyed him, he truly cared for Kate, and _that_ was something Peter could respect.

"It was, I suppose, inevitable. I am… and she is… and, well, it shouldn't be a surprise that it didn't last."

Peter is unable to follow Caffrey's train of thought, which seems to be ok, since the conman doesn't expect an answer. He returns to the previous subject; he has a feeling that Caffrey would not appreciate any well-meaning platitudes.

"I suppose you can't tell me what you're planning to do with your cars?"

"Peter, it's a _car_." No one affects utter innocence as well as Caffrey. "I'm going to drive it."

Peter snorts. "I'm sure that's all."

"It is." Caffrey insists, and then continues awkwardly, "It's actually a bit embarrassing. I hadn't driven for a while, so I was a bit out of practice and accidentally crashed one of them. Rather unfortunate. It was a nice model."

"How terrible. Want me to recommend a mechanic?" Peter suggests dryly. Caffrey laughs.

"Nah, I'm sure I'll figure _something_ out."

Peter's eyes narrow. Vagueness from the conman is rarely a good sign.

"Anyway, I should go." Caffrey has another twenty seconds before an FBI tracer could accurately pinpoint his location. He is no doubt aware of the exact time it takes for the technology to work. "Thank you, again, for encouraging me to get a car. It has proven most _useful_."

The forger hangs up.

There is something ominous hanging above Peter's head at those last words.

* * *

Soon after, a wealthy Pre-Columbian art collector calls the FBI Office.

His entire collection has disappeared. He suspects that it was the work of someone named Gary Rydell, a guest at a party of his a week ago.

Apparently they had met at a car show. Gary had recently wrecked both his Aston Martin and BMW and was in the market for replacements. The collector, who had just crashed his Jaguar sympathized, and the two immediately struck up a conversation.

Peter thinks little of it until he sees the sketch artist's drawing of Mr. Rydell. It isn't a perfect representation – it would never stand up in court—but, the resemblance is enough that Peter knows without a doubt Mr. Rydell's true identity. And he can't help but bang his forehead against his desk.

He should have just let Caffrey keep the damned car.

_Fin_

* * *

**The cons**:

I've mostly set this story around events from 2004. I took many of the specific cons from the bulletin board Peter used to keep track of the Caffrey investigation (in the episode Forged Bonds). Here they are:

Theft of _The Scream_ and selling forged copies internationally: This was also mentioned in the season two episode: Copycat Caffrey. I got the name of the painting used from the bulletin board. The specific museum they're in is the Frick. There is a beautiful Monet in the North Hall called _Vétheuil in Winter_ which is what Caffrey is looking at. The car bit is my invention, though.

Money Laundering: In the episode "All In", Peter says the Neal created the Nick Halden alias to run a money laundering operation via some Canary Island scheme. I didn't think Neal would use the Nick Halden alias after working with Vincent Adler unless he needed to capitalize on contacts he made as Nick. I also like the idea that he pulls it on Adler's business associates.

British Pounds: Neal tells Kate in "Forging Bonds" that they should go to France because Peter's getting close to connecting him with the forged pounds. It would also be like him to try and get Kate out of the country if he thought Peter might try to investigate her. Obviously, he also wanted to get to Copenhagen. He was supposed to meet Alex at the bar; she picks him up after instead, and I like to think that it was here that she told Neal that she had found the music box.

Falconer's Manuscript: We see how Neal, Kate, and Mozzie steal it in the episode "Forging Bonds." According to the bulletin board, the Feds were aware Neal had a partner for this job.

Vinland Map Forgery: Mentioned in the episode "Book of Hours".

Replace Fiorentino with Chocolate in Foil at the National Gallery: Brought up by Kramer in the episode "Countdown".

Antioch Manuscripts: First mentioned in the episode "Vital Signs" while Neal is drugged. He talks about it again in "Copycat Caffrey".

Raphael's _St. George and the Dragon_: Introduced in the episode "Unfinished Business." Repeatedly referred to throughout seasons two and three.

Selling the Statue of Liberty: My invention. The line I used is stolen from Otherhawk's story: Parental Moment. "You didn't get a part time job. You sold your highschool!" That said, every good conman tries his hand eventually at selling the Brooklyn Bridge. I figured, Neal would take it further. He does so hate to be unoriginal.

Gary Rydell and the Pre-Columbian Art theft: During the con Neal works with David Lawrence ("On Guard"), he smuggles out Pre-Columbian Art. Gary Rydell is described as a "playboy with uncanny ability to wreck expensive cars".

* * *

**Authors Note: **

**Most of this story came as the result of seeing Peter's bulletin board of the Caffrey case. That and the many tiny pre-series gems that the White Collar writers love dropping into the episodes. **

**I have always liked exploring pre-series characters. We know where the characters are now, but it is much more fun to try and imagine how they got there. Especially with Peter and Neal. The two come from such opposing backgrounds, that for them to become such good friends… there must have been something during Peter's investigation that appealed to them both for (1) Peter to have been so obsessive about Neal's case and (2) for Neal to enjoy baiting Peter as much as he did. I hope this story does a good job of unwrapping that chemistry. **

**I did my best to make the characters as realistic as possible. I also tried to keep it as close to the canonical information as I could. I hope that comes across, and I would appreciate any comments, criticisms, or remarks you have to offer. **

**I hope this was enjoyable. If I provoked even one laugh, I'll consider it a job well done. **

**Cheers,**

**The Third Marauder. **


End file.
